Books of Barakhai - The Beasts of Barakhai Part 25

"That was a big clue." Quinton pushed her plate aside. "Also, that you made no attempt to hide your crime from the guards showed you had no idea you did anything wrong."

King Terrin reached for the serving bowl of mashed roots.

"You killed and ate in human form. Murder rarely happens like that and cannibalism never."

Though he craved more of the root dish, Collins put his fork down. He schooled his features. "I want you to know I'm very very sorry about what I did. I've suffered a lot of recriminations, tears, and soul-searching to deal with it, and I still have moments of heart-wrenching regret. If I had known-"The king raised his hand. "You would not have done it. I understand."

"Thank you, Sire," Collins said, this time without difficulty. If his original companions had forgiven him this easily, they could have spared him and themselves a lot of bickering and discomfort. "I don't have the words to express how much I appreciate your understanding."

The king ladled root-mash onto his plate. "You need say nothing more."

As it sounded as much a command as a suggestion, Collins obeyed.

The king sat straighter in his chair, steam from the root-mash twining into his beard. "You have a choice, Ben. You may stay here and become another adviser."

"A generous offer, Sire," Quinton inserted, and Collins wished he had had the chance to say that first.

"Or you may show us the way to the portal so that you and Carrie, if she wishes, may return to your home."

I'm going back. Excitement trembled through Collins. I'm going home. "Thank you, Sire," he said, not voicing his choice because his quick decision to leave might offend the king.

Quinton clutched the front of her dress. "So you know the way to the portal?"

"I-" Collins started, then stopped with nowhere to go from that point. "I ... don't you ... I mean ..."

No one jumped in to help him.

"The way to the portal?"

Quinton's hands sank to her lap.

Collins shook his head to clear it. "Shouldn't be that hard to figure out. It's in a set of ruins on a hill not far from Olton. The guards caught me in a field close by. They should know."

The king and Quinton exchanged glances.

Quinton shook her head. "We sent guards to where you got caught. I remembered coming in through ruins, too; but the only ones they found that looked right took us nowhere."

Collins crinkled his eyes as the impossibility of the statement overtook him. "How can that be? How many ruins are there?"

"A lot." The king answered before Quinton could. "Centuries ago, the kingdom sat in that very area, sprawling for miles, with cities and towns at myriad locations. You can't go there without running into the ruins of something."

Collins' eyes slitted further. "Maybe if Carrie and I went with your guards, Sire. Taken place to place, surely we'd recognize-"

"Tried that," Quinton interrupted. "Amazing how similar a crumbling pile of stone and mortar can look to another crumbling pile of stone and mortar. Over hundreds of years, things get picked through until nothing of value remains for a landmark."

Collins shook his head, maintaining his confused expression. "But Zylas uses the portal again and again, so there must be some way to recognize it." He considered his next utterance, not wishing to offend. "Men do have . . . some advantage in the spatial relations realm."

Quinton adopted a deep, broken caveman speech. "Girls talk, men logic. Ugh." She pretended to scratch herself, apelike. "I got a 780 on my math SAT, I'll have you know. That's about an eyelash from a perfect 800."

Glad he had not resorted to the word "superior," Collins tried to make amends. "I'm not saying women are dumb, just that their brains are wired different from men's. Not worse," he added swiftly, "just different."

"Differently," Quinton said.

"Differently." Collins accepted the correction without comment, especially since it served to make his point. "Look, women have that extra X chromosome that protects them from hemophilia, color blindness, and a whole host of other deadly diseases. They live longer. They've got an advantage when it comes to verbal and nonverbal communication. Men had to get something."

"Testosterone?" Quinton suggested.

Collins knew his only hope now lay in self-deprecatory humor. "I mean besides the drive to kill each another."

Quinton laughed, opening the way for Collins to finish."And it just happens to be a better handle on how one object relates to another."

"Which is why guys never ask directions."

"Exactly." Collins grinned. "To do so would be abdicating our maleness, our one claim to ... to equality."

The king, who had quietly feasted on the roots while his guests argued the merits of gender, finally spoke. "I'm afraid I can't let you leave the castle, Ben. At least, not yet."

Collins' smile wilted. "I'm a prisoner?"

The king laid aside his fork. "Not at all. You're free to go anywhere within the fortifications. The guards will politely stop you from going farther."

Although Collins had no plans to go anywhere, the idea of a restriction bothered him. "If I'm not a prisoner, then why?"

King Terrin did not bother to consult Quinton this time. "We've been honest with you. Dangerously so. We can't risk you rejoining the renegades."

Collins weighed the king's words. The man had a point. He thought of Zylas, picturing the fair skin and soft waves of tangled, snowy hair beneath the ever present broad-brimmed hat. The pale blue eyes had always seemed so wise, so desperately earnest, a strange contrast to the inscrutable red beads he looked through in rat form. They had formed such a swift, strong friendship based on the mortal danger they had shared. Danger, Collins now knew, contrived by the very man he had seen as a savior. He thought of Falima, unable to suppress a smile. That evening in Vernon's cabin when they had finally reached an understanding, that camaraderie could not have been feigned. And Vernon. Collins still had difficulty reconciling the enormous man to the tiny mouse he became. Vernon had mentioned that he remained in mouse form, and Zylas a rat, whenever he visited Collins' world, even if he pa.s.sed his switch time.

Collins wondered if that had something to do with a difference in the physical laws in effect in each world. Thank goodness gravity, at least, works the same.

Realizing his thoughts had rushed off on a tangent, Collins redirected them. He knew the king wanted him to give up as many of the renegades as he could. They already knew about Zylas and Falima, so he did not need to worry about betraying them. He doubted he had any information about those two that the king did not already know. Collins saw no reason not to surrender Ialin, too. The tiny man had treated him with persistent hostility despite the trials he and his friends had deliberately caused for Collins. The realization irritated him. At least Zylas and Falima had the decency to acknowledge their debt to me. Which brought him to Vernon. There, Collins found a real dilemma. The mouse/man clearly dedicated his life to a.s.sisting people of many types, often without explanation or reason. Daily, he put himself in danger to help others, and he apparently did it from innate kindness rather than any expectation of reward.

I thought Zylas was a good guy, too. Collins grimaced at the realization. For reasons he could not fully explain, he believed Vernon truly had no ulterior motives. And then there was Prinivere. He realized how important knowing about her would be to the king, yet he also liked her. His vow to Vernon, though a sham, ached inside him. He had promised to keep her existence a secret, and his word meant more to him than he realized. Though the ceremony of spitting and shaking had no real significance, the fact that Vernon believed it did brought it to a whole new level. And Korfius was completely innocent. These thoughts rushed through Collins' mind faster than he expected. "I need time to sort all of this out before I make an irreversible decision."

"Understood." The king seemed unperturbed by this response. "And until then, you must see why we need to keep you here."

Collins did understand. "Yes, Sire." Politeness seemed the best policy. "And I appreciate your hospitality." Though no one had threatened or even suggested it, Collins realized they held a trump card.

If he refused to cooperate, they could reinstate his death sentence. He appreciated that they made it look like his choice, though, in the end, he truly had none. On the other hand, he saw advantages to leaguing with Barakhai's royalty. Quinton's presence, alive, well, and happy showed the king rewarded loyalty. He and the geneticist had spent time alone together. Even if the king had some way of listening in on their conversation, Quinton had shown that she could switch to English simply by setting aside the stone.Surely she would have warned him of any hidden agendas or cruelties of King Terrin or his staff.

Aside from holding him at sword point and in a cell, both understandable under the circ.u.mstances, they had, thus far, shown Collins nothing but kindness. They also seemed almost brutally honest in their dealings with him. In exchange for some information about people who had lured him into mortal danger and then accepted credit and trust for rescuing him from it, he would get a pardon, a way home, a beautiful companion to corroborate his story and maybe even, through a shared experience no one else could understand, a life partner. That he could pick and choose who he exposed and no one could know that he had done so proved the icing on the cake.

Collins needed time alone to think, and the king of Barakhai happily granted that request.

Chapter 17.

BENTON Collins awakened to the scattered glaze of sunlight through the slit of his window. He sat up and stretched, regretting it immediately as a wave of suffering washed through him. His bruises and strains had stiffened during the night, but time and sleep had erased the sharp edges of pain. He lay in a bed of simple construction, just a wood frame and blanketwrapped straw, but it far exceeded the one in Vernon's cottage. The cloth had warmed to his body through the night, and the idea of leaving the snuggly coc.o.o.n formed by his coverings seemed onerous. He glanced around the room. A chest of drawers filled most of one wall, full of clean clothing he looked forward to pulling over a body too long enmeshed in the same grimy tunic and britches. They had allowed him a bath before bed, a luxury more welcome even than painkillers or sleep. A table sat in the middle of the room, a basin of fresh water on its surface and a chair at its side.

A single pounded knock echoed suddenly through the chamber.

"Who is it?" Collins called.

He received no answer; but, shortly, another knock hammered against the door.

Guessing the wood was too thick to admit voices, Collins hopped from the bed, dressed only in a long, linen sleep shirt. He pulled the wooden panel open to reveal a guard who took one look at his garb and averted her eyes. "Sir, there's a woman who wishes to see you." She gestured lower on the spiral staircase.

Collins poked his head through the opening. A short, chunky woman stood there, glancing at and around him nervously. He did not recognize her and wondered what she wanted. "All right." She stood too far away to address directly, though she surely heard him. "Tell her I'm coming as soon as I dress."

The guard continued to avoid looking at him. "Very well, sir." She withdrew.

Collins closed the door and examined his sleep shirt. It fully covered him, and he guessed it made the guard uncomfortable only because of its purpose. It reminded him of the discomfort of barging in on a woman in her bra and panties, though the same woman in a bikini on the beach seemed perfectly decent.

All of which is ridiculously moot in a place where people see one another naked all the time. He amended the thought, Except the royals, of course, and I'm now considered one. He rummaged through the drawers, pulling a crisp tunic, a thin longsleeved shirt, and britches from piles of similar ones dyed different colors.

Collins threw off the sleep shirt and tossed it on the bed, smoothing the blankets into reasonable order. Since the bedroom was on the top floor, no maids could enter to clean it. He wondered if the king also made his own bed or whether lower level royalty or children served as menial labor in these "safe"

areas of the castle. He pulled on the clean clothing, fitting the shirt under the tunic and tucking his watch neatly beneath the sleeve. Now that the king knew what he was, he saw no need to hide the device; but he had no intention of trying to explain it to every curious guard and servant who noticed it. He pulled on the boots the king had given him, made of soft cloth stiffened with wooden battens.By the time Collins exited, the guard had left; and only the strange woman remained. He excused himself to use one of the garderobes. Returning, he joined her on the spiral staircase. She fidgeted as he approached, and her hands moved into various positions before finding a haven in the pockets of her dress. She wore her chestnut hair short, and sunlight struck highlights of blonde, black, and red through the strands. She had brown eyes so pale they looked almost yellow, and they dodged Collins' with uncomfortable caution. "My name is Lattie. Could we talk outside?"

Collins nodded, glad to move from the stuffy confines of the castle to fresh air and sunshine.

"I'm sorry I woke you." Lattie led the way down the stairs, past a pair of guards who stopped chattering and watched them go. "It is late morning, and I thought-."

Collins tried to make her feel at ease. "I was up. Just hadn't bothered to dress yet." It was essentially true. He had awakened before the knock. He did not press her for her business, though curiosity pounded at him. He had only just become a welcome member of the royal entourage that night, and it seemed impossible that people in the king's employ would already seek out his advice. Of course, now is the best time. Once they have a taste of my uncanny wisdom, they'll all know to steer clear of it.

After pa.s.sing several more guards and servants, Lattie and Collins departed the castle, through the open portcullis. The sun beamed down, too warm for the long shirt he had chosen to hide his watch. The sweet odors of gra.s.s and pollen wafted to Collins' nose, a pleasant change from the stale smells of old food, mustiness, and mildew. Horses in a variety of conformations and colors grazed the gra.s.sland, while dogs wound among them. A group of children squealed and giggled as they threw b.a.l.l.s as much at as to one another. Gardeners weeded, joined by goats and geese who carefully plucked around the healthy plants.

Lattie stopped walking, glancing around to a.s.sure no one stood close enough to overhear. "Before we go any further, I want to apologize."

Collins' shoulders lifted in a questioning shrug. "Apologize? For what?"

Lattie looked down. Collins followed her gaze to the wood and cloth sandals on her feet. "II'm the one who got you . . . hurt."

Collins let his gaze stray up her thick legs, over the bulges of belly and b.r.e.a.s.t.s, to her round baby face. "What do you mean?"

"I reported to King Terrin when you went in his room." Lattie shuffled her feet in the dirt. "I didn't know you. I worried ... I mean . . . the king's own room."

"It's all right." Collins rea.s.sured, needing to know. "How did you see me?"

"You . . . you ..." Lattie's gaze fell back to her footwear. "You . . . stroked me. It felt... it felt very nice."

Stroked her? Collins pursed his lips as his mistake became utterly clear. The cat on the window ledge. "It's all right," he repeated. "You had no loyalty to me, and I'm sure the king believes you did right."

Lattie sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a slow, relieved sigh. "Thank you for your forgiveness."

Her attention remained on the ground, and she continued to shuffle. "I'm going to switchform soon, and I wondered if you would ... if you would ..." She seemed incapable of finishing.

Collins smiled, believing he knew the rest. "You want me to pet you some more?"

"You must think me very forward."

"Not at all." Collins wondered what the cats in his world would say if they could talk. "Where I come from, once you choose to own a cat, your lap belongs to them."

Lattie finally met his gaze, her eyes moist with horror. "Own?" she repeated.

Oops. Collins laid blame the only place he dared. "Sorry, I'm new to your language. I meant, if you live with a cat, it gets your lap whenever you make one. Cat hair becomes an accessory and a condiment. When you're not petting them, they're rubbing against you, even if that means lying on your book, marching across the table, or standing in your plate."

Lattie's eyes fairly sparkled, and she asked not quite casually, "Where are you from?"

Collins laughed. "Too far for you to go, I'm afraid. I'm not even sure I'll ever get back there." Not wanting to explain, he returned to the original topic. "Actually, I find petting animals calming, so I'd enjoyit as much as you do."

"Really?" Innocent excitement tinged the word.

"Really," Collins replied, meaning it. He still had a lot of thinking to do, and experience told him he could do so in a calmer state and more clearly with a contented cat purring in his lap.

Lattie circled Collins with a sinuous grace, her earlier nervousness lost. "I know a place. A private place, in case some of the others don't understand. It's got catnip, too."

"Catnip. Hmmm." Collins did not know what to say, as he had no particular affinity for the stuff. In fact, he would not even recognize the growing plant; despite his science background, he had only a pa.s.sing interest in botany.

Caution tainted Lattie's otherwise excited demeanor. Clearly, Falima had a point about the dubious propriety of petting Barakhain animals.

Collins raised his arm, allowing his sleeve to slide back just far enough to peek at his watch, which read 10:50 a.m. So far, everyone who switched did so on an exact hour, which seemed like an uncanny coincidence until he remembered he had reset his watch by Zylas' switch time. Presumably, Lattie would transform at 11:00, and he refused to take her into his lap until that happened. So far, he had remained faithful to Marlys, though he already planned to break up with her if he ever managed to see her again.

Carrie Quinton's behavior suggested he might have a chance with her, and he had no intention of ruining that opportunity to appease a cat.

Lattie led Collins toward the inner gatehouse. Guards stood in the towers, looking over the outer courtyard. The doors were open, allowing free pa.s.sage between the courtyards. A man led an oxcart through the pa.s.sageway, the vigorous, young beast effortlessly hauling a load of hay. A sow slept in the pile, two piglets of varying sizes nosing around her. Lattie stepped aside to let them by, then gestured Collins through the gatehouse.

Collins paused, watching the cart creak and rattle toward the castle, not wanting anyone to think he was trying to escape. At Lattie's urging, he continued, looking up as they headed into the outer courtyard.

The guards remained at their posts, giving him only a pa.s.sing glance. He eased out a pentup breath, realizing that the king must consider both courtyards available to the castle staff. More horses and dogs occupied the inner areas, along with guardhouses, stables, and kennels to house them; but they moved freely between the two areas.

Lattie continued walking, leading Collins along a path through the gra.s.slands, past mixed herds of sheep, cows, and goats, to a shaded garden filled with a mixture of flowering plants and covered by a fringed cloth canopy built against one stone wall. Tall thistles stretched into makeshift walls on either side, blocking the garden from general view and making it appear as if it had no safe entrance. Bees buzzed by on their way to and from the flowers, and b.u.t.terflies flitted in colorful circles through the air.

Lattie brushed through an area that looked impenetrable. Beginning to wonder if he had made a dangerous decision, Collins followed. Thorns glided from his sleeves, rattling against his heavier britches and tunic, then parted to reveal a simple garden. Unlike the tended patches of the inner courtyard, this one grew relatively wild. Flowers of countless hues intermingled patternlessly, and vines twisted through them to overflow from the low stone frames. In the center sat a clay bowl on a stand, looking very much like a birdbath, though the canopy did not admit rainwater. Beetles and bees hovered around it, and Collins caught a sweet, unfamiliar scent beneath the already clashing perfumes of the various flowers.

Collins turned to question his companion, only to find her gone. Soft fur tickled his ankles. He rolled his gaze downward to the plump calico he had discovered in the castle stairway window. The issue of the bowl's contents would have to wait until he met with Carrie Quinton again, since his current companion would remain an uncommunicative animal for at least the next twelve hours.

Collins wandered farther into the garden until he found a carved granite bench. He sat, leaning against the smooth back. Cold seeped through his britches but could not penetrate the double layer of his shirt and tunic. The cat leaped up beside him. Before he could even find the most comfortable position, she clambered delicately into his lap, curled into every contour, and purred.

Laughing, Collins stroked the multicolored fur, immediately drawn to memories of his childhood. In those days, his parents had made a handsome, seemingly happy couple. Fluffy had had her choice oflaps, preferring Mom's but accepting his when she was not available. Though third choice, Dad enjoyed his time with the cat, often devoting his full attention to stroking the silky fur, examining the ears for ticks or lice, the body for scratches.

Collins forced his thoughts to his current situation. Essentially alone in a sweetsmelling garden, caressed by spring breezes, his wounds dulled to a tolerable ache, a refreshing sleep just behind him, he felt contented and clearheaded. During the night, his thoughts had shifted and resettled. He liked the king and the beautiful woman who shared so much in common with him: a student trapped in a world where magic usurped laws that had once seemed utterly obvious and infallible. People changed into animals, stones and spells allowed otherwise impossible communication, ma.s.sive dragons not only existed but cast magic and flew. Pardoned from the gallows, he no longer felt the anxious rush to return home to Demarkietto's demands, his imminent breakup with Marlys, his parents' selfindulgence. He wondered if anyone even missed him yet, aside from the inconvenience of dirty rat cages and experiments lost to unintentional neglect.

Carrie Quinton filled his mind's eye. Beautiful, graceful, intelligent, she seemed the perfect woman . . .